


Catastrophe

by TanookiRoxx



Category: KISS (US Band)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Depression, Drug Withdrawal, Dry Humping, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jealousy, M/M, POV First Person, Reunion Tour era, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22055515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TanookiRoxx/pseuds/TanookiRoxx
Summary: Caught in a vicious cycle, Peter Criss can no longer live with his destructive behavior, but he doesn’t know how to escape it. Paul wants to help but it’s not enough for things to change; can they finally change for the better? POV Peter CrissInspired by Peter Criss's Makeup To Breakup.
Relationships: Peter Criss/Paul Stanley (KISS)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	1. Catastrophe

You wanna know why I hate pricks who have never paid their dues in life!?

They’re all privileged assholes. They have never had to fight to survive their whole life like I have. It must be nice to have everything on a silver platter. Pricks. And no, it’s not the having lots of money bullshit that bothers me. There was a time I was privileged too – worth twelve-some-odd million to be exact. Now I’m reduced to a little under a hundred grand and signed to a shit label. 

I can sorta deal with that. It’s the blatant disrespect that pisses me off. 

I may not have the best education under my belt but that does not make me an idiot. I may not be the most cultured but that does not make me uncivilized. I may have a history of drug and alcohol addiction, but you know what, that does not make me worthless. When was the last time those bastards wrote a People’s Choice Award winning hit song!? I have more class in my pinky finger than those jerks do in their entire bodies!

I mean, look at Paul. He thinks he’s so goddamn superior to everyone. And you wanna know what the shitty part is? We used to be close as brothers. Sure, he’s a whiny little bitch with issues but there was a time that I would have died protecting him, but whatever. He always gets the best of everything!

Doesn’t stop there. He’s got that money-grubbing asshole Gene on a short leash too. The poor bastard’s convinced that Paul actually loves him. Ha! He knows he’d be nothing without his precious Princess Paulie. He has his head so far up Paul’s ass that he can barely see daylight!

Same goes for Ace. I loved him. I thought Ace was different. We were both street smart city boys with a lot in common. It was us against those twats! I always had Ace’s back whenever Gene and Paul started their shit. I thought he had mine too. Turns out Ace threw me under the bus first chance he got to appease them. 

And because I’m viewed as an outcast, it doesn’t matter whether I try to be nice to them or not; if I’m not the bigger asshole who stands up for myself, I get taken advantage of. I just couldn’t deal with it anymore. I was tired of all the drama and disrespect, so, I left, and no, shut the hell up, I was not fired. 

I tried to move on with a solo career. Life was pretty damn good. I had everything I needed: a hot Playmate wife, a beautiful baby girl, a breathtaking mansion, mountains of blow, and millions in the bank. I was set. I didn’t need those fuckers! Unfortunately, like everything else in my life, it was ripped away from me. Figures I can’t have nice things. It seems the universe is determined to keep me at rock bottom. Literally.

Just a few hours ago Southern California was hit with a massive earthquake. I was woken up abruptly from the violent tremors around three a.m. My God, I have never seen such a catastrophe! It was like being on the set of The Poltergeist. The electricity was flickering on and off while the lamps and other breakables were sent flying through the air. My TV flew off the dresser and blew up. The sound of shattering glass was all around me. I knew I had to get the hell out of there.

I got up and tried to make a run for it. Another tremor hurled me back into the bathroom wall. I withered in pain as I saw all of my Gold KISS albums fall off the wall and shatter. I looked over and saw all my precious Steuben crystal that Deb had loved was all shattered too. I honestly thought this was it for me. It was the perfect metaphor, really. I watched as my career and love life crumbled down before me. 

Why shouldn’t my entire existence go down with it?

I managed to crawl my way out of the bathroom. It was a bit of an obstacle course, crawling my way around fallen furniture and broken glass. Eventually I made my way out of my apartment and down the steps into the street.

Hell does not even begin to describe it. People were running around and panicking as if the apocalypse was upon us. I looked around. Amidst the chaos, I saw injured people, crying children, cars overturned, a broken hydrant gushing water into the street, and collapsed buildings. Two firemen were pulling what looked like a dead body out of the apartment complex next door. The sounds of screaming and sirens pierced my ears. I dropped to my knees and covered my ears, praying, just praying that this was all just another pill-induced nightmare. 

I thought to myself, why the hell should I keep going? I could have ended it all a few hours ago. I could have avoided all this chaos!

I didn’t know what to think about that so I just started walking. I didn’t know where to go but I kept on walking, pushing through the pain until my feet could take me no further.

And anyway, now I’m just sitting in a rich bastard’s backyard in Beverly Hills. There’s a swimming pool surrounded by a nice, grassy little garden that reminds me of somewhere in Tuscan. Typical. This asshole gets all the nice stuff! But anyway, I’m exhausted and covered in grime and dried blood, and just leaning back on a brick column thinking how the better off some people are, the worse off others are and how fucking unfair that is! And then I think about how fucking lucky Paul Stanley is, and I know that I will never, ever be able to reap his rewards.

Why the hell should I keep going?

And real fast, before I can change my mind, I flick out my switchblade and apply it to my wrists, and start bleeding, breathing hard and sweating from the sharp pain. Because I’m so sick of living this hellish nightmare of a life. What’s the use in fighting anymore? I’ll just end up disappointed again. Maybe if somebody finds me here, they’ll be sad, because sure as hell my so called “friends” would not be shedding any tears over my dead body.

Who wants to mourn over a has-been? Everyone loves you when your useful and making lots of money.

I look around, trying to get comfortable as I bleed to death. There’s a cute little white Coton de Tulear looking up at me with its tail wagging. I much prefer cats to dogs but I’m too tired to shove it away. It comes closer to sniff my bloody, slashed wrists. The little pup makes a pathetic whimpering noise. It doesn’t seem happy about my condition as its tail tucks between its legs.

I groan and pat it on the head a bit.

“Go on lil fella…just let me die in peace,” I sigh.

The effects of exhaustion and dehydration are hitting me like a freight train. I just want it all to end already!

The pup starts to lick my hand. Its staring at me with these big, sad brown eyes. As if I need any more damn pity in my life. Whatever. I’m not in the mood for entertaining something when I’m gonna bleed to death in a couple of hours. It won’t leave me alone now that I’ve petted it though, so I try to just ignore the damn thing.

I roll over to the pool, and lie face down and dip my wrists in, letting the blood flow easily. The chlorine stings the sensitive slashed areas, but it doesn’t bother me like it probably should.

Just as I have accepted my fate is when I hear the most annoying prissy lisp in the world approaching.

“Hey, get back here, girl. What’s got you so riled up—Peter!? What the hell are you doing here!?” he exclaims as he grabs me by the shoulders to pull me out of the pool.

“Fucking your wife, that’s what,” I groan weakly.

He grabs me by the shirt collar and pulls his fist back; ready to punch me in my face, as if I care anymore, when he stops, maybe because he’s noticed all the blood from where I already slashed my wrists.

“Peter, what the hell did you do to yourself!?”

I stare at the ground for a while, him holding my shoulders. I swallow, and a breath I didn’t know I had, hitches up in my chest.

“Y...you…you always get the best of everything and I have to b...be the one who suffers.”

Paul starts putting me back down. “Peter, not this bullshit again. You are responsible for the choices you make in this life.”

I’m shaking. I look down and see the little white pup is pawing at my leg playfully.

“Oh, piss off…”I resist the urge to kick the little nuisance. 

“That’s Frankie. She’s just as curious and worried as I am, as to why you’re here and slashing your wrists.”

I pull out my switchblade again. “You get everything. I got nothing…” I stare at the blade. “I have nothing. No wife, no friends, no home, no money, and no career. NOTHING! I always g...gotta have shitty stuff happen to me. It’s happened to me my entire life! I can’t any more, Paul. I can’t…just fuck off and let me bleed, d...damnit.”

As I dig the blade into my skin again, it’s hard to talk. I didn’t mean to start crying but I am anyway.

“Whoa! Shit! Peter, stop that!” Paul screams as he snatches the knife out of my hand and tosses it away.

Then he grabs my wrists and he’s holding them tight to stop me from cutting deeper, and to stem the bleeding.

I start talking faster, blurting everything out, and my words start hitching, “You’ve got a hot wife and a beautiful family, loving friends, adoring fans...and KISS...and I’m divorced, I never see my daughter, got a failed solo career, and I lost everything I own in that damn earthquake…”

“Peter…” Paul whispers. He looks absolutely mortified.

“I know...I fucked up Paul, I know! I...see what a s...stupid…”I grit my teeth, but I can’t hold back the sobs or the tears streaming down my face.

“I d…don’t want to h...h...h...urt anymore.” 

I’m sobbing harder than I ever have in my entire life. I didn’t mean to but the words are spewing outta me like vomit.

“I’m sorry I hurt you and put you through hell! I’m sorry I hurt others…I just want to be happy and live better. I want to quit drugs...I...I...I.,.want to be better dad…a b...better man…but I c...can’t be, and I...I…”

“Peter, I didn’t realize...”

“I don’t want to live like this anymore! I’m tired of hurting and always hurting everyone around me...I...wanna…d...die.”

He’s keeping me from bleeding further, but he is still holding my wrists to keep me from scratching the cuts open again, not letting me pull away from him, so I’m just shaking and sweating.

I just keep going and going, ranting on and on, about my whole shitty life story. How I’ve been trying to quit drugs cold turkey for a couple of weeks.

I tell him about how I’ve started taking pills just so I can sleep at night without having nightmares. I’ve just been so fucking lonely. I tell him about holding the magnum barrel down my throat a few hours ago and how I almost pulled the trigger.

And then it sinks in that at some point, he has wrapped his strong arms around me and he is holding me tightly. He is wiping the tears off my cheeks with a thumb, and wiping some of the sweat off of me. He’s rocking me back and forth, holding me to his chest as I quiver in fear. He’s muttering sweet nothings into my ear, and for a while it isn’t even proper words; he’s just shushing me and telling me it’s going to be okay.

I could never bring myself to hold him in return. I just tell him that every time he fuckin’ criticizes me I just feel totally pathetic. We were supposed to be equals but he always came out on top. I tell him I’ve tried to live a more fulfilling life after KISS, but I don’t know how. I also remind him what a fuckin’ prick he is.

But he doesn’t seem pissed surprisingly. He just keeps on holding me close and rocking me, his pouty lips close to my ear and murmuring calmly as I rage on.

“I just want to finally break free from this shitty cycle! So what if I’m an asshole? You can be a dick, but its okay for you because…because…you never had to see and feel what I had to…” I choke on the words. I’m crying again, and he starts raking his fingers through my hair.

He’s shifting me almost into his lap and letting me listen to his heart beating slow and calm. He’s still shushing me and whispering that, “everything is going to be alright.”

But will it really?

To be honest, I don’t feel any better because right now I’m just thinking about how he’s probably judging me again. I just feel truly pathetic.

“I wish I could be you. To live happily with no regrets…”

Finally, he speaks, more peaceful and gentler than I thought he’d be, “Peter, contrary to what you may think, I didn’t achieve happiness over night,” he tells me.

“I’ve suffered too…I just hid it from you guys, from the world. It took time but I learned how to be more comfortable with myself. You can change, Peter. You do have a choice-“

“Shut up!” I can’t look up at him. I just can’t stop crying. I’ve buried my face into his shoulder.

“It’s easy for you when…you’ve got people always around you, who love you…I have no one…I can’t keep living like this…I was a selfish asshole who pushed everyone away!”

But he keeps on holding me anyway. He trails his fingers through my hair once again. He wipes away more tears.

“You say you want to change for the better, Peter. If you’re really serious about this then I’ll help you.”

I’m not really listening. I’m just slipping further down him, crying into his perfectly chiseled hairy chest, because everything’s just tearing right out of me right now; all that anger and misery bursting like it’s a broken dam, even as my arms still hang limp by my sides. He still keeps talking.

“I never understood how you convinced yourself that I’ve always had such a perfect life; that I’m totally perfect, but I’m not. Honestly, I’ve lived a superficial life for so long that I convinced myself I was truly happy, but I wasn’t. Peter, I’ve spent many lonely nights crying my heart out too. The truth is I got tired of it. I woke up one day and decided I would try to live better each day. And if I can do it, you can too.”

There’s a longer pause. I let out a hiccup of a sob again, my face pressed against him with my eyes tightly shut. I haven’t cried in a real long time. I sure as hell didn’t expect to be doing it today, especially in front of Paul fucking Stanley. One of his arms is around my back, the other is now stroking my chest, and he’s somehow calming my racing heartbeat.

And he speaks again to fill the silence. “You’re right about one thing though, Peter. I can be a dick at times. I admit that I let my ego get the better of me and that I am still a bit sensitive about some things. It comes from a childhood of torment and bullying. But you know what? I don’t let my past define who I am. And neither should you.”

He makes me look at him. “Peter, I know deep down you’re a good man. You just gotta let it out more.”

“B...but…I d…don’t know how…”

“Yes, you can, you can. Stop putting yourself down. If you want my help, you’re going to have to stop with the negative mindset,” he whispers, and starts standing, making me get up with him.

“Now, let me take you to a doctor to get you some help.”

“No! They’ll only judge me and have me committed to some psych ward!” I scream and jerk away from him.

“Peter…” Paul sighs.

“I’m not crazy, Paul! I’m not fucking crazy! I just really need someone who gives a damn to help me,” I sob harder than before.

He keeps eye contact with me. “Peter, I do give a damn about you. That’s why I’m going to get you the help you deserve. I’m not going to have them commit you. I know you’re not crazy and you don’t really want to kill yourself. Why else would you show up at my place of all places? You asked for help because you want to get better. You’re more than what you think. You always were…” he practically cradles me, like I’m a baby and kisses my forehead.

Right now, I feel like one.

“I’m here for you, Peter. I swear on my life that I’m not going to desert you. I’m going to be with you every single step of the way starting with making sure we get those cuts properly cleaned and patched up. Don’t lose hope. Please don’t ever lose hope…”

I press my face back to his chest. He keeps a tight, but careful hold on me as we walk to his nice, new Porsche. I can’t bear to look up at him again, but he keeps his strong arms around me just the same, one stroking my back, the other hand wiping off my tears.


	2. Got to feel something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Ruriruri for being my awesome beta reader for this chapter!

Paul takes me to Cedars Sinai Hospital in West Hollywood.

The waiting room is a madhouse full of Northridge earthquake victims. Fresh blood is still dripping from my wrists and I must look like hell. No one’s giving me any funny looks, thankfully. As I quickly scan the room, I notice that I seem to be the only one who has it better. That’s not saying much.

Shortly after checking in a hot blonde nurse with big tits and a sweet ass comes to take me to my room. She’s hot. She kinda reminds me of Deb. I really want to get to know her better but apparently so does Paul. He’s practically drooling over her ginormous rack. She tries to ask me about my medical history but Paul keeps insisting he needs a personal check-up. I try to speak over him but he’s determined to outshine me again. Nothing ever changes.

The doctor enters. He asks me a shitton of questions like what those slash marks along my wrists are from. I just grit my teeth and explain that I fell during the earthquake. He gives me a look as if to say he knows that I’m full of shit. Now he’s inquiring about my drug usage. I explain that I have not shot up in weeks.

He does not believe me.

He patronizes me about long-term drug usage and its negative effects on the mind and body. I feel like I’m watchin’ some cheesy ass after school special! Well, no shit! Tell me something I don’t already know, stupid prick!

I’m fuckin’ clean! No reputable doctor would prescribe me any sleep meds until I quit.

I try to explain this to the quack. I’m probably coming across like a douschebag because Paul is giving me a condescending look before he slips out into the hallway with “Nurse Tits” in tow. It was the same look he used to give me at fancy record label dinner parties whenever I used the wrong fork. I can’t believe he’s leaving me alone in a room with this asshole.

I don’t want to show my hurt feelings so I look away as the doctor patches up my wrists. He keeps bitchin’ on and on about how withdrawal makes everything worse. Like I don’t already know this shit!

He’s finished with the bandaging and halfway through his rant when I just shove him aside and storm out of the room. Paul pulls his face outta the nurse's tits long enough to see me bolt down the hallway. He tries calling out my name. I’m not even stopping. I don’t stop until I make it to the outside courtyard in the back of the hospital. It’s surprisingly peaceful out here away from the indoor noise. The cool afternoon breeze soothes me as it rustles through my hair. I sit on a bench and stare into my miserable reflection in the koi fish pond in front of me.

I hate this. I hate how Paul is trying to play nice just to look like the good guy. I have no fucking idea why, but I just know he’s going to leave me again. He’s gonna secretly despise and pity me. I know I disgust him.

I see his reflection next to mine. He sits next to me and is just staring at me with a concerned look, waiting for me to say something. I don’t bother looking up at him.

“Peter, do you want to talk about—“

“Shit, are you gonna do this here, really!?” I snap as I look at my newly bandaged wrists. “I tried, okay. I fuckin’ tried! What the fuck would you know about shooting up anyway?”

“Peter, what’s really wrong? You’re acting like I killed your cat or something,” Paul sighs.

“I can’t believe you just left me back there with that asshole,” I growl.

It came out way more pathetic than I intended.

“Are you seriously mad at me for stepping out of the room? I was just trying to give you some privacy,” Paul scoffs.

And it starts. I’m getting the sweats again. And I’m starting to shake too. The withdrawal symptoms are happening now. Paul can tell. He’s starting to soften up on his defensive posture.

“Just go back to the blonde, Paul. I know you’d rather be all over her than out here with me,” I groan.

I’m ready to pull off the bandages and try to open up the cuts again when he grabs my wrists and pretty much forces me to look at him before I can do it.

“I’m exactly where I want to be right now,” he says softly as he strokes my hand tenderly.

I’m fighting back a grin. He doesn’t mean it. He can’t. He’s just playing nice to get me to calm down like the manipulative bastard that he truly is.

“Yeah, Pam would take your ass to the cleaners,” I retort.

“She already did. We’ve been divorced for a while, Peter,” he groans. He almost looks like he wants to cry.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Paul,” I mutter.

I want to gloat. I want to rub it into his pretty face that his bangin’ hot actress wife dumped him! I want to make him feel like shit just like he’s done to me countless times but I just can’t do it. I can’t bring myself to mock him.

“You’re right. I never shot up. Not once,” he examines my arms. Not just the old scabs though. His fingers trace over some of the older cuts higher up on my arms. He seems to be lost in thought as if he’s trying to understand what I went through.

I’m sorry, Paul. I just wanted to feel something… 

I want to tell him. I do but I can’t bring myself to say those words.

“I know it was not easy for you, Peter, but I’m glad you made the decision to quit. So let’s concentrate on the important stuff. What is it that you want out of life?”

“I want my old life back…”

He gets on his damn soap box and starts speaking in a way that inspires everybody else. I’m wondering what Hallmark card bullshit has he been readin’ lately. I pull away again, not listening. He doesn’t get it. I’m zoning out just watching his pouty lips as he speaks.

“You’re not listening to me, are you?”

“Huh?” I answer inelegantly.

He huffs. He clearly hates being ignored.

“I said money and fame will not make you happy, Peter! That’s part of what got you into this mess in the first place. Why would you miss those superficial things?”

“What happened between us, Paul?” I blurt out.

“Wha? What do you mean?” Paul asks taken a bit aback by my random question.

“We used to be close. We talked on the phone every night and went on vacations together."

“Oh? Yes! I remember! Those were some great times,” Paul smiles.

“Yeah…Why did we stop? I liked hanging out with you. I used to look forward to our evening talks."

“Peter…you started spending a lot of time with Ace and I just wanted to do everything in my power to make us superstars,” he hesitates.

There’s more to it. He wants to say something but he can’t bring himself to say it.

“Then you got out of control with the booze, drugs and partying. We just didn’t have anything in common in the end.”

“We had more in common than you and Gene.”

“Peter…”

“I had your back from the very beginning, Paul! I loved you like a brother and would have died for you. I always stood up for you behind your back. I just don’t understand why you hate me so damn much. You should have just let me end it…One less asshole in your life...”I swallow.

Oh shit, I’m gonna cry like a little bitch again.

“Peter, I don’t hate you! You hate me!” Paul exclaims.

“Yeah, I did when you stopped having anything to do with me. I was never cool enough or smart enough to get to hang out with you and the high society snobs you desperately wanted to impress. I liked you for who you are, Paul. You never had to front around me.”

I can’t believe I’m actually crying over Paul Stanley like a groupie who didn’t get picked out of the Chicken Coop.

“Just get the hell away from me, Paul! I’ll never be good enough for you,” I sob.

“Peter, I had no idea you felt that way…” Paul trails off.

I’m shaking my head trying to ward off the oncoming tears.

“Peter, I really do care about what you’re going through.”

“How can you possibly—“He grabs me again and pulls me closer to him. He’s positioning my head on his shoulder again. Instinctively, I reach around him and hug him tightly. I don’t ever want to let go. I start to cry again because I know this tender moment between us will not last. It never does.

He holds onto me and rocks me gently. God, I hate him so much. Why is he doing this? He keeps whispering sweet nothings into my ear to get me to calm down. He keeps rocking me in his arms. It does make me feel a little bit better though.

“I just miss the old days back when we all got along! I miss being in KISS…I miss the fans…I miss my sweet Jenilee…I miss Deb…”

“Peter, look at me!” he sits me back up to look into his chocolate brown eyes, “Listen to me, okay? I know guys who went through what you’re going through right now. They got their life together and so can you. Just trust me on that…”

Funny how quick he is to avoid the conversation about me and him. I’ve gotten well adapted to rejection by now so it shouldn’t come off as surprise any more but I’m still crying. He starts wiping off my cheeks and our eyes meet. I press my face to his chest again. He just keeps stroking my back like a doting brother. It’s like he’s trying to make up for lost time or something.

“Why are you even doing any of this?”

He keeps patting me. “We may have our differences but I’ll never stop loving you, Peter.”

His strong arms wrap around my body tightly, and they don’t let go. I keep hiding my face so that he can’t see the tears. I hate myself for being like this, and I hate him for seeing me like this. It fuckin’ hurts, and I clutch at the bandages on my wrists again to rip them off, and all he does is hold me tighter.

“Relax. It’s going to be okay. It really will!”

“No, it’s not. I know you. Deep down you think I’m truly pathetic."

And there’s an awkward pause as he releases me from the hug.

“See? You hesitated.”

“I don’t think you’re pathetic. Well, not like this,” I look up at him. “I mean, I think you were pathetic for choosing drugs over your career and family. What you’re doing now is not pathetic. It takes a real man to bare his soul and acknowledge his faults. I’m honestly very proud of you, Peter. I think you are finally taking a step in the right direction.”

I sit there for a moment, not entirely sure of what to say. Nowadays if I’m not miserable I’m angry, and If I’m not either it’s a numbness.

Got to feel something…

Maybe I shouldn’t have quit shooting up. What I’d give for another hit just to take the pain away. I reach for the bandages on my wrists.

Paul intervenes and wraps his arms around me once more. I hide my face into his face chest again. He’s stroking my back and I’m just limp yet I’m shaking so hard.

“Paul…I…I can’t do this…the pain is just too much…”

“Yes, you can. You can! You will! I will make sure of it! You’ll stay with me until things get better.”

He’s rocking me back and forth really gently. I’m starting to feel safe…safer than I have in years. I realize that I’m crying again. One moment I’m numb and the next it’s like I’m being ripped apart. I try to stop, and then I can’t because part of me wants to scream too.

It gets louder and God, it just hurts so badly, and I must sound pathetic as I kneel against him sobbing. A few nosy people wandering the courtyard observe us. I’m expecting Paul to shove me away any second, but he’s still holding on, keeping me close and wiping the tears off my face, “It’ll be alright.”

“I just want it to end already.”

“Peter, I’m here for you,” he holds me tighter, and then makes me look at him, “I’m sorry I pushed you away years ago. I really am. I…tend to push people away who get too close to me. I just don’t want to get hurt again. I see how foolish that was, and I’m really sorry for hurting you.”

And I look into his eyes, and there’s no mockery, or hate, or deceit only sincerity.

“We’ll get through this together, I promise.”

“Yeah?” I look at him with hope.

He smiles and nods with such conviction. I then press up against him to feel his warmth. I feel loved and safe. It’s nice. His fingers brush through my hair, and I curl up a little. For the first time I really believe that things will be alright.


	3. Ain't Quite Right

As I open my eyes slowly, I’m nearly blinded by a bright white light. I try to move but my body recoils in the most pain I have ever felt in my entire life.

“Take it easy, Mr. Criss!” a strange voice warns me as I’m being forced back down on my back.

My eyes finally adjust to four doctors staring directly into my face. They’re all whispering incoherent words that I can barely understand. I’m in a hospital? But why? How? I was just sitting outside the courtyard with Paul. This shit doesn’t even make any sense! My eyes glance over to a nearby table full of dead roses. Apparently, I’ve been in here for a while. I try to sit back up but I’m once again forced back down. Another wave of pain rolls through my body, and I can’t help but scream out in agony.

“Oh, God, help me. Help me. I can’t take the pain!”

The four quacks give me a look of annoyance as if I was an inconvenience to their day. Huh. Imagine that. They continue on with their hushed whispers, not even bothered by the fact that I’m withering in pain over here!

“Shut up! Just shut the fuck up! Give me something for this pain or I’ll burn this damn hospital to the ground!” I scream, thrashing around, trying desperately to pull myself up in a seated position to no avail. It feels like someone keeps holding me back down with brutal force.

I guess I must have pissed them off because the next thing I know is a burly quack is handcuffing my wrist to the bedpost.

“What the fuck are you doing!? Have you lost your goddamn grip!?” I shriek in disbelief, glaring daggers at this crazy bastard.

“For your own good,” he grunts, exiting the room without even sparing me a second glance.

“Get back over here and take these handcuffs off of me, asshole! Do you even know who I am!?”

The other three doctors give me disgusted looks as they follow him out the door.

“Where are you all going!? Get your sorry asses back over here and do your job!” I scream as the fucking cowards scurry out of the room even faster.

“Shut up, Peter.”

I look over to see Paul sitting down in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the room. How long has he been here? I watch as he gets up and walks over to me indignantly, looking down at me with disgust.

“God, look at you,” he sneers, gesturing towards a mirror. “You really fucked up.”

I look into it and don’t even recognize my own reflection. My body is completely bandaged but my face is horribly disfigured with bloody cuts and black and blue bruises. I’ve seen this before. This is exactly how I looked after that car accident with Fritz! But, no! That can’t be! I’m wracking my brain trying to remember how I ended up here. I was with Paul getting my wrists bandaged! I haven’t done drugs and alcohol in weeks! I don’t even remember the last time I went joy riding. This has to be some kind of mistake.

“How could you do this again?” His voice cuts right through my heart like a knife.

Wait…again?

“You promised you’d do better and like a fool, I believed you.”

“Paul, I…I am. I will! Please, I didn’t do anything! I was with you! I honestly have no fucking clue what is going on!” I shrill, looking at him pleadingly.

Oh God, no! Please God, no! Please don’t let me have fallen off again. Why do I keep making these same mistakes over and over again?

His big brown eyes bore into me. They’re cold and without any compassion.

“You’re really a fucking idiot. You always were and you always will be.”

He turns to walk away.

“Paul! No! Please don’t leave me! I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!” I sob hysterically. I try to go after him but the damn handcuffs yank me back into the bed. The hot, searing pain in my body returns but it’s nothing compared to my broken heart from Paul’s rejection.

He stops at the door but doesn’t even look at me.

“You’re never going to see me again. Gene thinks you’re a loser and a moron and you deserve everything you got. We both think you’re better off here all alone in the mental ward. It’s what you rightfully deserve!”

My heart palpitates at this distressing news. Locked up in the ding wing forever? No! I don’t deserve this! I may have made some stupid mistakes, but I’m not a crazy person!

“NO! Paul, please don’t do this me! I’ll die in here!”

“So? You wanted to die, remember? Good luck rotting away in your new prison.”

“NO! OH GOD! NO! PLEASE NO! PAUL!” I scream as he walks out the door unaffected by my heartfelt cries.

I’m crying and tugging as hard as I can on the handcuffs, ignoring the sharp pain in my wrist as the fresh blood flows freely. I’ll rip my damn arm off if that’s what it takes to get back to Paul! I’m a screaming hysterical mess, thrashing around wildly. Suddenly, two big bodyguards in white suits come rushing into my room trying to subdue me. They both have firm grips on me, pushing me back down into the bed. I refuse to go down easily. I’ll fight these big bastards every step of the way.

“PAUL! PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME! PLEASE COME BACK!” I’m screaming as I continue to kick and fight off the two bodyguards, praying Paul will have a change of heart and come back to save me.

I feel something slam into the back of my head and then everything goes black…

“Peter! Peter, wake up!”

“GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!” I rage, slamming my head back against the bedframe as Paul’s bedroom comes back into focus.

“Damnit! Calm down, Peter!”

I look up to see Paul has me pinned down against the bed. He’s shaking me. Only when I cease my spastic movements he stops, staring into my frightened eyes with a mix of fear and confusion in his own. Frantically, my eyes dart around the dark room. I’m not in a hospital…I’m not strapped down in some creepy psych ward…it’s early morning at Paul’s mansion. Relieved, I sit up and wrap my arms around him tightly.

He hugs me back carefully. “Peter, you have to see a doctor about these nightmares. Your kicking and lashing out is becoming more violent. You wouldn’t even wake when I pinned you and shook you.”

“No shit. Did I say anything this time?” I break the hug so I can study his facial expressions closely. Paul always had a shitty poker face.

Paul purses his lips before speaking, “Nothing that I could understand.”

I nod solemnly, looking down, averting his scrutinized gaze. These reoccurring nightmares or rather my past repressed skeletons in the closet have been coming out to haunt me every single night since the MTV Unplugged show a few weeks ago. I wonder if it’s an omen. Each night I’m reminded of the hell I had to endure within the band as if the universe is trying to warn me. Last night was the damn Phantom of The Park filming nightmare.

_Hey Mr. Tally Man, tally me bananas._

I could still hear Gene and Paul taunting me over my mispronunciation of talisman. With clenched fists, I begin to tighten up my muscles. The pain…the humiliation…the insults. It still stings like ripping off a fresh band aid. And it just reminded me all the more of why I hated these fuckers…

“Hey, hey,” Paul cooed, cupping my cheeks as he gently presses his forehead against mine. “It’s okay…come back to me. We’re here…you and I.”

“I know,” I sigh, trying to take a few deep breathes to calm down. “It was that time I got in that godawful car accident with Fritz. You came to the hospital—"

“How about I make you a nice cup of tea?” he offers, giving me a sweet kiss on the cheek before he climbs out of bed to go into the kitchen quickly.

He’s only in the next room and I’m already missing him. I can’t stand to be alone these days. We’ve been inseparable ever since that fated day, he found me in his backyard with slashed wrists. After I got my wrists all patched up, we went back to my destroyed apartment to collect my things. Surprisingly, my money and all my valuables were still there and left untouched under the rubble. The looters must not have hit my block yet. Paul arranged for all of my things to be moved into a secure storage unit.

I was to stay with him for a few days, but I’ve remained with him for months now. It’s been so great getting to spend lots of quality time with Paul again. With Paul’s help, I’ve been seeking therapy for my drug withdrawal, I’ve been seeing a personal trainer daily and I’ve been taking drum lessons to brush back up on my professional drumming skills. I’ve even been able to reconnect with my daughter again! I’m in the best shape, mentally and physically of my life! Life is good. I’m actually happy again. But if I’m so happy then why the hell do I keep having these nightmares?

Paul comes back into the room with two mugs of piping hot green tea. I thank him softly as he offers me a mug. We sit in silence, carefully sipping our tea until Paul speaks first.

“So, Louis Vuitton has released a new exclusive line of traveling luggage.”

I nearly choke as the hot tea burns its way down my throat. Traveling luggage? I just had a violent night terror and he just wants to ramble on about high fashion purses!

“You really broke my heart when you said you’d never see me again.” My voice trembles. I can feel the tears start to brim in my eyes. I fight them back. Hell no, I’m not going to cry. Not again.

“I just don’t think I’ll have time to shop what with all the rehearsals and press conferences we have before the tour.” He keeps rambling on, lost in thought.

Did he even hear a damn word I just said?

“Paul, are you even listening to me?” I snap, glaring at him with resentment evident in my eyes. I can roll with most of the punches, but this nightmare, this particular one I just can’t shake off so easily.

Paul narrows his eyes as he looks up at me. “Yes, Peter. I am. I have already told you many times that it’s all the past. You can’t change the past. I’m not discussing this with you anymore. Let it go already,” he replies in a snarky tone before taking another sip of his tea.

He always does this bullshit. Every time I try to talk about the past and how it’s still hurting me, he’s quick to disregard my feelings. If he doesn’t change the subject abruptly, he’s finding some convenient excuse to leave the room.

Now he’s droning on about Egyptian cotton sheets or some shit. I don’t really give a fuck. I try to focus my attention back on my warm mug. My hands are trembling, causing little ripples in my green tea. I have to put the mug down or I’m going to spill the damn thing all over the bed and really risk pissing Paul off further tonight.

“Paul, I do want to talk about it. I need to get this off my chest or I’m going to explode. Why did you feel the need to say those awful things to me at the hospital?” I say, clutching onto the bed sheets for support.

With an exasperated sigh, Paul hops off the bed overdramatically. “Really, Peter? Really? You want to make this all about you! You hurt me too, you know! Your lack of commitment to the band and your defiance to me was the ultimate betrayal!”

“Well, I wouldn’t have had to rebel if you wouldn’t have treated me like such a—”

“Peter! That’s enough! I have always stood by you! All those years of you half assing it in interviews and on stage, I always made sure to cover for you to protect you! You were given a unique opportunity to work on your solo album and what the hell did you? You went and played Russian roulette with your life again! You wanna go on about ME saying awful things to you!? YOU have said some very nasty things to and about me!”

“Bullshit! You were just protecting yourself by making yourself look good! As soon as you made your millions and gained full control over KISS I became nothing to you! Yeah, I’ve said some things…things I’m not too proud of but only because you stopped talking to me. I can’t go through that again. I just can’t Paul. I can’t! Yeah, I was a fucking idiot back then. I have my regrets. It just felt like you gave up on me! You gave up on me so I gave up on myself!” I raise my voice louder than I ever intended to. My shrink was right. I still have some unrelinquished baggage from my past. I cover my face with my hands to hide that I’m crying again like a chump.

Paul’s not saying anything. He’s just pacing back and forth in his room with a disgruntled look on his face. This is usually Paul’s passive aggressive way of throwing a temper tantrum when things don’t go his way. I’m thankful Gene is not here to back him up and give him more leverage over the situation. He’ll still win though. He always does. I hate arguing with him. Things have been going so well between us lately, I’d be a damn fool to willingly fuck that all up again.

I’m trying to regain my composure, so I can change the subject to appease him. I don’t want him to leave. I’m so scared that if I’m too much for him that he’ll leave me again. I just can’t bare the thought of being all alone. I hear Paul put his mug on the bedside table as he climbs back into bed with me. He wraps his arms around me and I curl into him still shielding my face in shame.

“Peter, what is this really about? I told you things would be better and they have. Where is this sudden hostility coming from?”

He’s so warm and strong. I feel so safe in his arms. I roll onto to my side to face him. He’s stroking his fingers through my hair. It’s so soothing. My muscles relax as the tension starts to melt away.

With a heavy sigh, I confess, “Everything is happening too fast. It’s been fifteen years since I was in KISS. I’m finally getting my life back together. What if I fuck it up or get fucked over again? I know I’m such a damn hypocrite for wanting to rejoin the band, but I don’t want the good to get ripped away from me. I don’t want to lose you again.”

Probably said too much. Damn me for wearing my heart on my sleeve. I know I’m known for putting on my tough guy act a lot but at the core I really am just a sensitive guy. Paul’s working his fingers down my head to my back. He must know what he’s doing with those hands because damn…I am starting to feel good. I can’t help myself. I’m pulling myself up into his lap so I can feel his touch more intimately.

“Peter…” he whispers into my ear. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise you things will be different. We’re back together and stronger than ever. Please, trust me. I only want the best for you. This is fucking huge.”

_This is fucking huge._

That’s exactly what George Sewitt told us when he pitched that KISS MTV Unplugged show with me and Ace. My instinct told me to tell them all to fuck off, but George was persistent. A part of me was full of doubt, but a bigger part of me still craved the fame, so I relented. I should have stuck to my guns. Something wasn’t quite right. As soon as they started documenting everything without my permission, I should have known better. Of course, my skepticism was long forgotten as soon as I took the stage to a thunderous standing ovation. I just couldn’t believe it. The audience went wild…for me! God, I had forgotten how addicting that feeling was. No drug ever came close. Shortly after the show, George approached me about the KISS reunion tour and that’s when the nightmares started.

“Millions of dollars, Peter. We’ll be the kings of the rock n’ roll world once more!”

I hum and nod. Paul’s trying to cheer me up with the sweet promises of fortune, fame and babes galore. I’m not really paying much attention. It’s what I wanted when George was tempting me. But right now, I just want Paul to hold me…and I want to hold him. I put my head on his shoulder as I rake my fingers down his back. He hums thoughtfully as his fingers work their way up my chest now. My legs are wrapped around his waist as we both slowly begin to grind, and I tremble.

“Are you feeling better?” He asks with a smirk.

“Oh yeah,” I gasp out. “I want more.”

Paul blinks and cocks his head to side. I pause when I realize what exactly we’re both doing. Paul looks down and snickers. Suddenly, I’m full of shame once more. I can feel my cheeks burn hot.

“Well, someone’s happy to see me,” he playfully jests.

“I’m s...sorry Paul,” I stutter out, pulling away from him abruptly. I don’t want to break our warm embrace but I know that I have to.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why is my body betraying me like this? God, I’m so embarrassed! I don’t know what to say or do. Part of me wants to flee, but I’m not some little bitch that runs from their problems. So, I’m just waiting for the oncoming taunting to start.

“Hey, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he grins and winks at me.

“I…I need to use the bathroom,” I say lamely to excuse myself.

I head out of that room. Fast as lightning. I spend a shit ton of time in the bathroom just splashing cold water on my face and looking at my reflection. My mind is racing a million miles a second over all my anxieties, and I realize how ridiculous I am acting. Paul’s right. You can’t change the past. I had a taste of the great life. A life that I have missed dearly. And now I’ve been offered a second chance. Only a damn fool would turn it down. I stare in disbelief at the schmuck in the mirror.

“God, look at you, you crazy bastard. You’re going to be rich again. Life is good, you fucker,” I say to myself with a small smile.

What a fool I have been! Things will be different. Paul and I have rekindled our relationship. We’ve learned from our past mistakes. In retrospect, it is pretty pathetic to stress over the past and future. With a grin, I head back to the bedroom. Paul is sound asleep. I don’t want to disturb him and I’m still a little shy about what happened earlier, so I head for the guest bedroom to retire for the night. And for the first time in weeks, I fall asleep without any nightmares.

I was in the middle of a wonderful deep sleep, when the telephone rang. Groggy, I picked it up.

“Hello…” I sigh out.

“Peter, are you sitting, standing, or lying down?” Gene said in his monotone.

“I’m fucking sleeping,” I say in a grumpy tone. “What in the hell do you want?”

It’s six in the morning. I’m finally getting a restful night’s sleep and fucking Gene Simmons has to interrupt. The universe has a sick sense of humor. I’m convinced that man is determined to make my life a living hell.

“We just sold out Tiger Stadium in forty seven minutes. Forty thousand seats,” he deadpans.

My eyes snap wide open. “Wha!? What did you just say?”

He repeats himself once again with the enthusiasm of a brick wall.

I can’t believe it. I drop the phone in shock and jump out the bed, screaming. Holy shit! It was happening! It was really happening! And then a tiny bit of doubt starts gnawing into the back of my mind as if to say, something ain’t quite right.


End file.
